A Meister's Duty
by hopelessswriter
Summary: As a meister, it is her duty to train weapons for battle. She knows this, Soul knows this. But a conversation with her father reveals more than she intends about the matter. SoMa kind of, some language.


Soul was silent as he strolled behind her down the corridor to Lord Death's room. Maka felt the uneasy tension in the air, but she had made up her mind a long time ago. Ever since Soul had obtained his death scythe status, she knew their time as partners could end very soon. It was time she looked for a new weapon, and she wanted him to at least be a part of the search. She had talked it over with Soul, and had made the appointment with Lord Death the week prior. She tried not to notice how her heart was speeding up the longer they walked.

She almost turned around, however, when she saw the current death scythe, her cheating scumbag of a father, talking to the death god. As soon as he saw her, his smile nearly split his face in two. "Maka!" he wailed, rushing toward her only to meet the waiting book in his daughter's hand. She brushed right past his wallowing form to bow to the death god.

"Good morning, Lord Death," she greeted formally.

"Hello, good morning Maka!" he cheerily returned. "What brings you here this morning?"

Maka swallowed. "I'm here to request…" She hesitated for only a moment. "A new weapon."

She tried to ignore the pain in her chest when she felt Soul's flinch behind her.

There was a moment of silence, and to her surprise her father was the first to speak. "What?" His voice was low, but Maka didn't answer him, keeping her gaze trained on Lord Death.

The death god hummed in thought. "A strange request coming from you, Ms. Albarn. May I ask why?"

"I—"

"Who would've thought?" Spirit's voice chuckled. "Because she's like her father." Spirit's voice piped up from behind the trio, causing Maka's entire body to go rigid.

"Shut up, Papa. I'm nothing like you." Maka dismissed him, not even turning around.

He chuckled briefly under his breath. "Not in personality, or character, that's for sure. You're like your mother in those areas." Maka stiffened again. "But I see now, in this one way, you and I are just alike."

Maka spun around, Soul moving to haunt the edge of her peripheral vision. "No I'm not! I don't run around on my partner and lie and cheat!" Maka could already feel the oncoming headache from this overdone argument. "So how am I _anything_ like you?"

Her father, true to form, flinched at each accusation. But, where he would normally back off and apologize, he scoffed. "Because, you can't let anyone close to you. They can only get so close before you shut them out." Maka stared at him as he spoke. "Just like me and your mom. We were married, had _you_, and that permanence scared me. So I ran off, always knowing in the back of my mind that someday it would all crumble. But Kami and I, we were close. And it scared me, so I ran away.

"Isn't that what you're doing right now, Maka?"

Maka immediately shot back, not liking where this conversation was going. "No, it isn't! There are thousands of weapons in the world that need to be trained, and I can't be selfish when I have a duty to perform! It's called being _faithful_, Papa. To what I have promised someone else, something _you_ could never—"

"You're getting rid of him before he's taken from you, that's all."

Maka took a step back, right into Soul's solid chest. Startled, she took another step forward, and it wasn't until she was away from him that she'd been realizing she'd wanted him to stop her.

Spirit kept talking. "Did it hit you like it did me? That you had let him in as much as you could without calling it love? That if he knew you any better, one more fact, that he would be irreplaceable? Or did he move past that point, and you're hoping it won't hurt if you _choose_ to leave?"

Maka choked on her own words, and she felt Soul's comforting presence at last. He pulled her head to his chest and looked up at her father. "That's enough, bastard. She's had enough." Maka tried to take comfort from how his deep voice made his chest rumble.

"Am I wrong, Soul Eater? Is she still open? Or does she avoid your eyes, or spend all her time reading." His accusations were no longer questions. Soul became very still above her, the hand that had been in her hair halting its comforting movements. "Did she get you to hate her when she told you she wanted to trade you out, because I'm sure that's what she was doing. It'll be easier for her if you don't love her an—"

"Shut up you damn bastard!" Soul yelled, but Maka had heard what she'd known to be true for a long time. She let out a sob again, and Soul's arms tightened. His heart beat erratically in his chest. "This was hard enough for her already without you messing everything up!"

"Why are you letting her leave?" Spirit shot back, his voice rising to meet Soul's. Maka felt Soul flinch back. "You know what's going on, and I know you don't want her to, so why? You can stop her!"

Soul was quiet. "Who are you asking here, old man?" he finally asked, and Maka looked up sharply. Her father had silent tears streaming down his cheeks, and his normally clear blue eyes were sad. She looked back to Soul, whose face was unreadable. "Because I'm not your wife. It's a different situation."

"Oh yeah?" Spirit challenged, his voice wavering. "She's throwing you to the side, you punk idiot! Like all you are is that fucking scythe! There are hundreds of other scythes, so what makes us so special?" Soul didn't answer, and Maka's heart felt like it was being twisted in different directions. Is that what Soul thought? That she was discarding him like an overused tool?

Spirit looked back at his daughter. "This can't be the first time you realize this, Maka. You read so much." His voice was tender now. "I didn't mean to put all of that on you in that way, but you don't understand. How it is to feel like only an object, and then to meet the person who makes you _more_ than that, only to have them gone. I know you can't let people in, but you have to try. Because as much as you hate me, you found a good weapon. He hasn't left, and he won't." He looked back up at Soul. "Isn't that right, punk."

Maka looked up at Soul. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his voice was low. "Only if she wants me to, old man, which is why we're here. So if you'd stop making my meis—" His voice broke. "—her cry, we have business with Lord Death."

_"My meister." _Maka's head was spinning at everything that had just happened. She heard Soul talking, and Lord Death's response over her father's loud yells of protest. Soul's arms moved to pick her up, and by the time she realized what was going on she was placed on the ground next to her father and she was watching the back of his leather jacket walk away from her.

"No, Soul," she whispered. But he kept walking, unaware of the hesitation she should have felt long ago. She wobbled to her feet, beginning to chase after her only to have the comically gloved hand of Lord Death appear in front of her.

"Maka, I can have some young weapons in the classroom that you could meet with. I'm sure they would be thrilled to have such an accomplished meister such as yourself." The god's normally jovial voice was uncharacteristically serious. "Give me—"

"Lord Death, please let me go. I've made a mistake." Her voice choked again, but she steeled her resolve. She wasn't going to cry until she cleaned up the mess she made. After a moment's pause, the hand lowered from in front of her. She raced to the hall, but stopped at the last second to stand next to her father. He was still sniffling, and she refused to look at him, but she let the "Thank you, Papa" past her lips all the same.

/

"Soul!" Maka screamed for the fifth time. He stopped ten feet from his bike, turning slightly to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes held the warmth she had always known them to hold, despite the accusations her father had made just moments ago. She felt a lump form in her throat as she tackled his chest in a hug, her face smushing into the leather of his jacket. His arms wrapped around her automatically, but she leaned back to look at his face.

"My dad was right, and I'm sorry." Soul's entire body stiffened, and his eyes clouded over.

"Right about what?" His voice was dangerously low, and Maka realized her mistake. Her eyes widened.

"No! Not about the object thing! About me being scared." She chewed her lip carefully. "I've always trusted you, he's wrong about the whole letting people in thing. But…"

Soul waited, and his voice floated out gently when she stopped for too long. "But what, Maka?"

She blew out a breath. "You've been getting hundreds of offers ever since you became a death scythe, and I was thinking the other day: there's no way you'll say no forever. Someone would come along eventually who's smarter, or stronger, or prettier, or just overall better—"

Soul's laugh cut into her sentence, and Maka felt her cheeks flame. Here she was pouring her heart out, and he was _laughing_? He caught her miffed look and quieted down, but his voice was light with humor. "Sorry, Maka, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say." Her glare persisted, and he tried again. "Maka, I've turned down all the eligible meisters at school. There's no one left. I would never trade you in."

Maka felt the truth in his words like a slap to the face. _"I would never trade you in."_

"_Not like you tried to do to me."_ She waited for those words, the words that would break her, to leave his lips. But they didn't, though they stung all the same.

Maka swallowed and continued her explanation. "Oh. But, I just wanted to try and…keep myself from getting hurt. I thought that if I left before you did…"

"That you wouldn't end up hurt like your mom," Soul finished softly. Maka nodded, a single tear escaping her control. Soul sighed above her, wiping the tear away and grabbing her chin to force her to look at him. His crimson gaze was unescapable. "Maka, while it sucks to think you thought I'd leave… frankly the entire week sucked, actually, but I understand. So let's just go home, ok?"

Maka nodded, and he smiled and turned to walk away. But Maka's hand shot out against her will and she asked the question she was honestly afraid to ask. "Soul…did you really think I thought you were just a tool?"

His frozen posture answered for him.

Maka flinched, and felt the lump in her throat grow.

"Your dad was right about that one thing," Soul muttered. "You _don't _understand the feeling of just being an object. I'm not sure he really does either. When my mother first saw me transform…" His voice trailed off, but Maka didn't dare utter a single sound. Soul rarely talked about his life before the DWMA, and Maka only knew the basics: estranged son of the wealthy Evans family, known for their musical prowess and status in all social circles. He left to be a weapon due to his own personal reasons, against his family's wishes.

"I was hardly a person to her anymore. After all, what human can turn into a thing meant for killing?" His laugh was far too bitter for Maka's liking. "I was treated with barely there posture because of my last name, but that was about it. I counted down the days until I could come here; until I could stop being a _thing_.

"Then I met you, and for some reason you saw _me_, and I was, human again, you know? People saw me as some_one_, not some_thing_."

"That's why the soul always mattered more to you," Maka murmured, a lot about Soul finally clicking.

She watched the back of his head bob up and down. "Yup. My family has all the good grace they could want, but I wouldn't be surprised if they showed up on a mission list."

"Soul!" Maka chided, knowing he was being overdramatic. He huffed, but refocused.

"Anyways, when you said you wanted another weapon, because it was your duty to ready us for combat or whatever, it was like all those years ago. It was your _duty_ to get me ready for Lord Death, but now that that's no longer an option you still have to train other weapons. I was just the first of many."

He let out a huff of breath, and looked up at the sky. "But now we're cool again, so it's all good."

Maka grabbed his hand, forcing him around to look at her. "Soul, you're just going to put this entire week behind you like it never happened? You're not angry, or upset? I tried to end our partnership, and you're just going to act like it never happened?"

Soul gave her a hard look. "Maka, do you want me to be mad at you?"

"Of course not, I hate when you're mad at me. But there's no way you can just put all of this behind you."

"It's how I work, Maka. Dwelling on the past isn't cool, plus there's no point. People don't change overnight anyways. There's no way all of our doubts can be erased after a single conversation. But we work through them together, like always. Okay?"

Maka sniffed, a small smile wobbling on her lips. She nodded, brushing past her weapon—no, her _partner_— to his bike. As the wind streamed through her hair on the drive home, she held Soul just a little bit tighter. _'You really are the coolest, Soul.'_


End file.
